Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry: Term 5
by aconsultingwizard
Summary: A collection of assignments for term 5 on the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry forum.
1. Myths and Legends: 1-3

**Title:** Heartbreak  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter  
 **Rating:** K  
 **Warnings:** N/A  
 **Word Count:** 1,028  
 **Prompts:**  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments): Term 5, Myths & Legends: 1.3 - _Write about a bride who never ends up getting married, for whatever reasons. Incorporate her wedding dress.  
_ **Author's Note:** Diverges from canon in that Petunia never meets Vernon.  
 **Summary** : Petunia finds something in her attic which dredges up unwelcome memories of the past.

* * *

Petunia put her hands on her hips and surveyed the small room, a frown firmly in place on her face. She could have sworn that her winter coat was in the attic but so far it had proved impossible to find. Sighing with frustration, she pulled down yet another suitcase.

Oddly, the case resisted and she stepped forwards, trying to determine what was stopping it from moving. She pulled harder on the handle and felt it finally move. It fell down from it's precarious position atop a stack of boxes with a thud and with it, a heavy piece of fabric, which tumbled down onto Petunia.

She staggered back under the weight of the material, realising too late what it was that she was holding. Quickly she threw the dress away from her and fell to the floor. Her ears were ringing and she was struggling to fill her lungs with air. The room was suddenly too hot and she felt dizzy.

When she finally managed to look up, the white fabric lay in a pile in the floor, taunting her. Petunia shut her eyes tightly but she couldn't escape. The image of the dress remained, as if it had been burnt onto her eyelids. She hadn't even known that the dress was in her attic. At the time, it had been the last thing on her mind.

With a strange fascination, Petunia slowly opened her eyes and crawled forward, reaching out a hand for the soft satin. She ran her fingers along the delicate embroidery, tracing the swirls that decorated the neckline, and gasped as her fingers tapped a button. There were hundreds of buttons down the back of the dress, she remembered, and it had taken Lily forever to do them all up.

At the memory, Petunia let out a sob. She remembered the last time that her fingers had caressed the beautiful material, the last time that she had dared to touch the mesmerising patterns.

* * *

 _Petunia listened to the chatter of voices downstairs fade away as the last of her friends and family got into their cars to drive to the church. She would follow in half an hour- just as soon as Lily finished fastening her buttons. Petunia was beginning to wish that she had picked a dress with a zip. She was growing impatient, eager to get to the church and start the ceremony. She ran a hand through her hair, admiring the way that her usually flat brown hair had been curled and twisted into an elegant style. Finally Lily announced that she was finished, and Petunia was allowed to step towards the large mirror._

 _Petunia gasped at the sight. She was radiant. The dress was the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen. It flowed down her body, sparkling as tiny diamonds caught the light. She turned to Lily and saw her wonder mirrored on her sister's face._

 _Quietly, they made their way downstairs and Petunia stepped up into the car where her father was waiting. His eyes glimmered with tears and she smiled proudly while Lily closed the door, murmuring encouragements, before getting into another car with the other bridesmaids._

 _They didn't talk on the way to the church. Her father sat quietly, watching her and thinking to himself, and that suited Petunia perfectly. The short drive gave her time to imagine everything once more. She must have dreamed of the moment she would walk down the aisle a hundred times since the engagement. She would walk past all her friends and family with a smile on her face, her dress trailing behind her as she stepped over flowers strewn across the church. Justin would be waiting for her at the front of the church, a smile on his face and his hand outstretched._

 _Her dreaming was interrupted when the car drew to a stop, and she grinned in excitement as her father helped her step down. Together they straightened out her dress and walked towards the church. He had to stoop as they passed under the low doorway and she giggled._

 _The smile dropped off her face as Lily hurried towards them, a look of panic on her face. Immediately Petunia stepped forwards._

 _"What is it? Have the flowers not arrived? Has the priest been held up?"_

 _Lily looked around, seeming reluctant to explain. Finally she forced the answer out. "It's Justin."_

 _Petunia looked concerned. "He's not ill?"_

 _"He's not here."_

 _Petunia almost dropped her bouquet. "What do you mean? Call him."_

 _"Derek's tried. No one's spoken to him since this morning."_

 _Petunia craned her head past Lily and noticed the unrest of the gathered crowd. Her relatives had clearly noticed that something was amiss. She could feel their stares, feel the tension in the air._

* * *

Petunia breathed in sharply. She had spent years trying to escape that moment. Justin had waited almost twenty minutes after she got to the church to call, leaving her to offer up empty excuses to the guests. Even then he hadn't volunteered any information, only pathetic reasons as he tried to justify why he couldn't go through with the wedding. He had left her to stand up in front of all of their friends and family and tell them that he didn't want to marry her after all.

The shame that she had felt had haunted her since then. She had left town as she couldn't bear to be around their old friends. He had ruined her, made her fear any kind of relationship. Lily had once offered to help, to take away the memories, but Petunia couldn't take the easy way out. If she forgot Justin then she would forget what people were capable of. She would let her guard down, let someone else in, and then they would hurt her again. Never again would she be made to feel so humiliated.

Petunia sighed, folding the beautiful dress in half and dropping it into an empty box. It was the perfect dress, for the perfect bride. It was just a shame that the groom had disagreed.


	2. Music History: 1-3

**Title:** Strength  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter  
 **Rating:** K  
 **Warnings:** N/A  
 **Word Count:** 694  
 **Prompts:**  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments): Term 5, Music History: 1.3 - _Write a story about a character from the Golden Trio._  
 **Author's Note:** Set before epilogue, but diverges from canon in that Ginny dies. **  
Summary** : A reflection on the life of the saviour who was abandoned by the world, Harry Potter, a man who refused to give up despite everything that stood between him and happiness.

* * *

A man stood on a beach.

The beach itself unremarkable. It seemed to stretch for miles, unending sands which were a flat contrast to the choppy grey waves. It was cold, as most English beaches are, with a wind which whipped through the tall grasses that lined the beach. A layer of pebbles strewn with seaweed seperated the soft dry sand from the wet sand further down the beach. Waves crashed against the shore, the white foam racing up to reach the sand.

Seagulls circled above the beach, occasionally letting out harsh choruses of shrieking. There was no other sign of life, apart from three children, and the man.

One of the children, a boy with short red hair, was standing atop a pile of sand. He shouted with excitement as waves surged around his little island. The other two children bravely strode out into the sea. The little girl screamed as her brother splashed icy cold water at her.

The man also appeared normal. His unruly black hair was tossed about by the wind and his green eyes stared to sea. Perhaps he was watching his children, or maybe he was looking beyond them to the point where the sea met the sky. He was dressed as one might expect, a fleece pulled over old jeans in an attempt to keep out the cold, and was surrounded by the usual debris of a beach trip; spades, buckets, picnic blankets and towels.

However, despite appearances, this man was extraordinary. He had endured more pain and heartbreak than anyone should have to. He had spent his life giving everything to the world and he had received almost nothing in return. He had lost so many of the people he had loved, and still he refused to give up.

When he was a baby the world had branded him as its saviour. Through fate, accident, and luck, he had been chosen. The expectations of the world were a burden, but a burden that he accepted. He refused to be selfish, to allow fear to overwhelm hin, and gave himself up for the good of the then, when he had saved the world, they wouldn't leave him alone. He was hunted, a slave to the whims of strangers. He refused to let them get between him and his family, and managed his fame with dignity and humility.

For a few years he was happy. But that happiness only made everything harder to bear when his life was torn to pieces. After everything they had been through, the war that they had won, it seemed laughable that a badly done warding spell could put an end to their perfect life. No one laughed though, when they buried his wife.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, he refused to fall apart. His children needed him, and so he didn't have time to give up.

Magic had stolen his wife, and so he did everything he could to keep his children safe from it. He retreated from the world which had asked everything of him into another, which had never treated him with anything but cruelty. He had no family of his own to support him, and being around her family was too painful. His best friend, her brother, tried to be there for him, but he was a painful reminder of better times. Eventually, he had no one but his children.

Even then, he made the most of it. He loved his children. That was all that mattered. Whatever happened, he would be there for them.

The man sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes focusing on his children. He smiled, a sad smile, but a smile that showed strength and courage. His eyes glinted with defiance.

Quickly, he kicked off his shoes and ran down towards the sea, rolling up his trousers as he went. When he reached the foam, he swept up his daughter and grabbed his eldest son's hand. His other son jumped down from his island and ran to join them, and together the little family charged through the surf, ignoring the biting cold and the harsh wind.


	3. Myths and Legends 2-1

**Title:** Beautiful Nightmares  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Warnings:** This is pretty violent, and there's familial torture.  
 **Word Count:** 1,126  
 **Prompts:**  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments): Term 5, Myths & Legends: 2.1 - _Write about a cruel uncle or aunt. You cannot write about Petunia or Vernon Dursley.  
_ **Author's Note:** N/A  
 **Summary:** Draco is living in a house full of the most deadly people in the world, but it's only his aunt who terrifies him

* * *

Draco woke up to fiery pain and bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. Cursing, he jumped out of bed. He reached for his wand and mumbled a spell that would straighten out his robes and walked towards the window.

His heart sank as he watched a small parade of hooded figures make their way towards the Manor. This was the third time that week that he had been woken in the middle of the night. As a result he had taken to sleeping in his clothes, and was always ready to get up when he had to.

Draco hurried to the door, poking his head out to check that the hallway was deserted. Silently, he stepped out into the corridor and strode towards the stairs. A fresh wave of pain shot through his arm and he stumbled.

At the bottom of the stairs he heard voices, and Draco threw himself against the wall, pushing past a tapestry into a concealed space. The Manor was a huge sprawling house, but he knew all of its secrets.

Footsteps came and passed, and after a moment Draco deemed it safe to step back into the corridor. He knew that hiding was pointless- if they wanted him, he'd have to go. But he could buy himself some time, a few minutes to prepare himself.

He hadn't had time before. They'd thrown him into the dining hall and made him get on with it. Last time it had been a woman, a little younger than his mother. They'd needed a name from her, someone else with valuable information. It had taken hours to get it out of her. Hours of pointless defiance while he had to find a hundred different ways to hurt her He had to pretend he was enjoying himself, pretend that he was honoured by the privilege of getting to do _his_ dirty work. He had wanted to vomit, but instead he'd forced himself to laugh as she writhed helplessly at his feet.

Shuddering, Draco threw open a door and stepped inside. He caught ahold of a rope ladder and began to climb.

He was halfway up when the door to the room creaked open.

Draco froze, his heart hammering in his chest. Light filtered through the open door and he could see a shadow stepping towards him. Suddenly the rope that he was clinging to gave way and he fell to the floor.

"Well, what a surprise. What have we found?" The voice was a harsh whisper that sliced through the air. Draco shivered, his lip curling in revulsion. He got to his feet slowly, but before he could escape the door slammed shut.

"Little Draco, hiding away from all the fun."

Suddenly a flame flickered, and in the light of a candle he could see her. Once, she had been the most beautiful woman for miles. He had seen pictures of her, before Azkaban, back when she was still a model of beauty and grace. She still held herself like a queen, still had the famous Black beauty, but she had changed.

Her beautiful porcelain skin was too pale. Years of sunlight had robbed it of any life, and she looked like death himself, with dark shadows lining her face only serving to emphasise the paleness. Her hair was unkempt and tumbled wildly down her back. Her eyes were the worst, lit from within by madness.

Of all the dark wizards and creatures who had occupied the Manor, his aunt was the worst.

The others served the cause out of fear and self preservation. Like his father, they wanted what was best for themselves. Some of them had no choice. Bellatrix was different. She was half in love with the Dark Lord himself. She had no reason, no logic, she lived for nothing but to cause pain. Bellatrix was madness personified and no one was safe from her.

Draco shuddered as he felt something move up his back and twisted around to see the rope caressing his back. He turned back to Bellatrix and saw that she was conducting it with her wand, a wild look in her eyes.

"We should go." He said firmly, refusing to let her tricks affect him. Draco took a step forwards, towards the door, and suddenly the rope looped around his neck.

He froze. The rope was loose, but slowly it was tightening, an undeniable threat. Bellatrix seemed not to notice, but he knew that inside she was gleefully celebrating his discomfort.

"What's the matter Draco?"

He didn't reply. Bellatrix was unstable- one wrong move and she wouldn't hesitate to curse him. Instead he stood completely still as the rope began to dig into his skin. She stalked towards him, smirking to see him so helpless.

Bellatrix lifted one slender finger and tapped the broken nail against his forehead. Slowly, she dragged it down his face, the edge sharp against his skin. Still, Draco didn't move.

He had learnt his lesson the hard way. When he had first arrived hime from school for the Christmas break he knew that things were different. His mother had tried to warn him, but he hadn't been prepared the first time that Bellatrix had cornered him.

He had screamed then. Screamed for help and Bellatrix had laughed scornfully and walked away. Draco had been relieved, but it had been a temporary relief. She had hurt his mother instead, punished Narcissa for Draco's fear. Draco couldn't bear the sight of the purple bruises marking his mother's pale skin or the haunted look in her eyes, and since then he had resolved to take whatever Bellatrix threw at him.

The rope tightened suddenly and Draco had to gasp for air. He saw Bellatrix's satisfied smirk as he strained against it. He could feel her squeezing his throat and pain throbbed behind his eyes as his air supply was cut off. Draco's knees felt week and he stumbled but that only put more pressure on his neck. Dizzy, he struggled to stand still as he choked.

Abruptly, the pain disappeared. Draco fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. He didn't dare to look up at his aunt.

"Fortunately for you, I've got better plans tonight." she said. Draco grimaced.

"My Lord does not require you tonight." With that, she swept out of the room.

Draco stayed on his knees for a long time after she had gone. Finally he got to his feet and made his way back to his room. It wouldn't be long before she came for him again, so he needed all the time to recuperate that he could get.


	4. Myths and Legends 2-EC

**Title:** Highwayman  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter  
 **Rating:** K  
 **Warnings:** N/A  
 **Word Count:** 1,028  
 **Prompts:**  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments): Term 5, Myths & Legends: - _Write about Dick Turpin having some kind of interaction with a witch or wizard around this time, or perhaps he was also of wizard heritage himself._ _  
_ **Author's Note:** I am not a history student, nor do I know very much about Dick Turpin. I assume his writing style/language would have been considerably different from mine. I have tried to phrase things in the best way possible but in some places this might sound a little stilted - advice would be great. Also, the wizard Dick meets is Edgar Stroulger x  
 **Summary:** The night before he is to be hanged Dick Turpin writes about the strangest encounter he has ever had.

* * *

To whom it may concern,

My name is Richard Turpin, although I was known to my friends as Dick. That is not the only name I have gone by though, for several years I have called myself John Palmer.

If you have found this letter, then presumably you have found the journal in which I left it. I have left behind my journal so that the world might know of my adventures and escapades.

Tomorrow I am to die. I am not afraid of death, merely afraid that my name might fade away into oblivion. I have been advised by many to beg for forgiveness, but instead I have taken far more sensible and practical precautions. I have spent some of my fortune on a new coat and shoes and hired some mourners to ensure that my execution is as dignified an affair as I deserve. People will remember me as the great Dick Turpin, highwayman and handsome villain.

They have chosen to ignore all of my incredibly dastardly deeds and hang me instead for the paltry crime of horse theft. This seems so unfair that I feel I ought to protest, but you will read more about that in the journal.

No, the main reason for this letter is to recount an event that happened in the night of September 27th, 1736. I had forgotten it, quite completely, as if it were wiped from my mind completely until the last few days. It came to me in a dream, and at first I thought it was simply that, a vision. But now I see it even during my waking hours, and I am sure that it did in fact occur.

The night was a cold one and a thick mist made it difficult to see more than several feet in front. It was the perfect night for a highway robbery. I was alone, and so there is no one else who can testify to the strange things that happened that night.

I heard a carriage coming a couple of hours after midnight. As it drew near I readied myself, preparing to halt the carriage. If I had had a partner, he would have distracted them while I stole their valuables, but as I did not, I would have to be more direct. I am sure that there will be some who say that I was drunk that night, and so imagined the whole thing, but I had not drunk a drop that night. I believed that when I was working I needed a sharp and clear mind, one not addled by alcohol.

I peered out of a bush and saw the carriage roll into sight. I couldn't see the horses pulling it, but I assumed that the mist was denser, and they were obscured by it. The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the branch that I had cut down and dragged into the path and I saw a young man, about my own age, get out and go round the front to investigate. I drew my gun and advanced, but before I could get near there was a strange piercing whistling noise. The noise was harsh and I put a hand to my ear as the man looked around him in surprise. I couldn't see him clearly, but he seemed to mutter something to himself and then a light appeared. I assumed he had struck a match.

The man stepped towards my hiding place. Now that he was closer I saw that he had a messy mop of dark hair and an odd pair of spectacles, which rested on a long crooked nose. He did not look like he would put up much of a fight and his clothes looked expensive, so I was hopeful that there would be a handsome sum in his purse.

Smoothly, I stepped out from my hiding place, my gun pointing at him. He seemed unsurprised to see me, and I was confused by his lack of reaction. Usually, this was where my victims started to scream, or run, or bluster. He was holding a long stick which was lit, but didn't appear to be burning. I was interested, but I didn't have time for foolish tricks.

The whistling, which had stopped, had resumed, and I grimace. "Shut it up." I ordered, assuming that it was coming from him.

He nodded and reached into his pocket, drawing out a strangely shaped object which was filled with light and making the awful noise. He said something and the noise disappeared.

Still, I didn't believe that this would be different from any of the countless other jobs that I had carried out. I advanced on him slowly until I was sure that he would cause me no problems. Then I reached for his cloak and pulled it from his shoulders, reaching for any hidden pockets which might conceal treasure.

I only took my eyes off him for a moment.

That moment however, was long enough for him to somehow disarm me. I jumped backwards at the sound of my gun being thrown away from us and stared at the man. How he had managed to pull it from my grip I did not know.

He muttered something and I felt a strong wind push me backwards. I didn't hear what he said, but it was in a foreign tongue. He said something to me, words that I cannot remember, and then he pointed his glowing stick at the trees behind me. I was startled as branches began to lift me up, and found myself above the canopy of the trees, looking up at the night sky.

When I finally managed to climb down, the carriage and all traces of the man were gone.

As I say, until only a few days ago I had forgotten the incident entirely. I am not a superstitious man, but what happened to me that night cannot be explained by any logic that I know of. Instead, I leave my story behind to you, so that even in death, I may be surrounded by mystery and adventure.

Sincerely,

Dick Turpin.


	5. Muggle Studies 3-1

**Title:** A Weasley Wedding  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter  
 **Rating:** K  
 **Warnings:** N/A  
 **Word Count:** 848  
 **Prompts:**  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments): Term 5, Muggle Studies : 3.1 - _Write about someone marrying the widow/ex of a family member._ Extra Prompt : _(Word) Desire  
_ **Author's Note:** Alternative ending, canonical up to the end of the war.  
 **Summary** : It's Hermione's big day and Ron can't believe it's finally happening

* * *

Ron fidgeted, scratching his neck in an attempt to distract himself. The church was hot, his dress robes were uncomfortable, and it felt like they had been waiting for hours. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him, all of his family and friends were sitting in front of him. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, filling the church with colourful light. Chains of flowers were draped over every available surface and he was fairly sure the thousands of candles were a fire hazard. It all would have been so much simpler if they'd been allowed to use enchantments, but because there were so many muggles attending the ceremony they had to do everything the muggle way.

Suddenly the organ started to play and the space was filled with heavy music. The huge doors at the back of the church were thrown open and Hermione stepped into the church, her father at her side.

She was radiant. Her dress was stunning - not something that Ron would usually appreciate, but it was impossible not to. Her hair had been curled and elegantly piled on top of her head, a few stray curls falling down around her face. Her brown eyes shone with excitement and she smiled with joy.

Ron could hardly breathe as she began to walk towards him. Hermione was more beautiful than he had ever seen. Years ago he had looked past her beauty, dismissing her as nothing more than a friend. Now though he could see her for the incredible woman that she was.

Mr Granger let go of her arm and she stepped up towards the front alone. Hermione grinned, a warm beautiful smile that flooded her face.

Ron stared at her in awe. He heard George cough lightly and felt someone grab his arm. Ron looked down as his sister lead him away from the girl he loved and sat down next to him.

Someone began to speak and Ron took advantage of the distraction to remind himself where he was. Today was an amazing day, but a day that he was watching from the sidelines. He was not to marry Hermione, but to support his brother as George stood in the place that should have been Ron's.

Ron dared to glance up and caught a glimpse of the couple's adoring looks. The two of them stared at each other as if they were the only people in the whole world. He felt as though the air had been knocked out of his lungs and looked down again.

Ron couldn't quite understand the chain of events that had lead to him sitting at this wedding. Hermione had been his. They had been happy. He had loved her more than he had thought possible, but she hadn't returned those feelings. Hermione had seen their relationship as a childish thing, a time to experiment and push boundaries, but not as anything permanent. His heart had been broken when she left him, but somehow no one had realised that. Everyone assumed that he was fine with it, that he felt the same, that all he was looking for was a pretty girl to snog. No one understood that he did have the capacity for deep emotion, it had just been buried. His one desire after the war had been to live a happy life with Hermione by his side, but that desire had been shattered.

When George had brought Hermione back to the Burrow for dinner one night Ron had been devastated. The sight of her laughing and cleary in love was too much for him, but there was nothing he could do. It was the first time that he'd seen George happy since Fred had died, and there was no way that he could ruin his brother's happiness.

So for weeks he avoided family dinners, waiting for the relationship to fizzle out. How stupid he had been to ignore the signs. Ron was taken by surprise when they announced their engagement. He was even more shocked when George asked him to be the best man. He felt like an imposter at this wedding. Fred should have been George's best man, and Hermione should have been his bride.

Ginny leant over and he could feel her questioning look. For the sake of appearances Ron turned his attention back to the happy couple, just in time to hear Hermione repeating her wedding vows.

Somehow he managed to rise as they began to proceed out of the church and walked behind them on shaky legs. Out in the fresh air all he wanted was to escape, but there were thousands of photographs to be taken.

Ron had to stand next to his brother and smile for what felt like hours. He couldn't bring himself to even look at the bride.

Hermione Weasley. The name he'd dreamt of giving her. Ron felt empty. He knew that this wedding would be replayed in his head for as long as he lived; the day that his brother had married his love.


	6. Fairytales 2

**Title:** Lost and Found  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter  
 **Rating:** K  
 **Warnings:** N/A  
 **Word Count:** 2460  
 **Prompts:**  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments): Term 5, Fairytales : 2 - _Write about how much it took your chosen pairing to finally get together! It should be obvious that it was a hard_ way. Extra Prompt : _(feeling) desperation  
_ **Author's Note:** Diverges from canon slightly.  
 **Summary:** After the war Draco is sent to Azkaban, largely because of the testimony of one Hermione Granger. Little does he know that while he suffers, she is trying desperately to undo her mistake.

* * *

Draco blinked as light shone into his cell. He shifted slightly, wincing at the pain the movement caused. The light got brighter and he shut his eyes. If he hadn't been so tired maybe he would have had the energy to question the sudden presence of light when for years he had lived in complete darkness.

There was a hideous shrieking noise and something was slid across to him. Draco risked opening one eye and saw that it was a plate laden with food. He didn't move towards it; partly because he was exhausted and partly because he was suspicious of everything.

A voice growled something at him but he couldn't make out the words. Instead, Draco leant back against the bars and allowed himself to drift off into unconsciousness again.

When he woke up he was lying on a bed in the middle of an entirely white room. Draco had just concluded that he must be dead when a man poked his head around the door.

"You're awake! Wonderful!"

Draco stared in confusion as the man bounced towards him. He had a grin on his face and his robes were a ridiculous shade of fuchsia. It had been years since Draco had even seen another person, and it seemed unfair that he should be suddenly confronted with such an overenthusiastic individual.

"I expect you're rather confused - I'm sure I would be." He said happily. Draco wasn't sure that 'confused' was the right word to describe how he felt, but before he could say anything the man carried on talking. "I'm Simon Rothpellier, your lawyer."

Draco wasn't aware that he had a lawyer. He had several questions for the man, but his voice didn't seem to be working.

The man - Simon - continued prattling on but Draco didn't listen to much.

* * *

Time passed in the strange white room much as it had in his cell. He was barely awake and saw no one for days. Slowly though, he began to regain his strength. Eventually he was moved to a different room. Unfortunately, this change of location meant that Simon came round almost immediately and this time Draco actually had to listen to what he was saying.

"I want to talk about your trial." He said, getting straight to the point.

Draco sighed. That was the last thing he wanted to do. It had been dreadful. He'd not been able to sleep the night before and then he'd been escorted to the Ministry at some ridiculously early hour. They'd made him sit through his parents' trial before his own, and he'd had to watch as they dragged first his father and then his mother away to be administered the deatheater's kiss. His mother had held herself as though she were a queen; never showing fear, but his father had made a scene; shouting at the assembled audience.

They had been sure that he would be okay. Both of his parents had twisted their stories; casting themselves in a darker light so that he would look better by comparison. Blaise and Pansy had already had trials and had been sentenced to house arrest for a year and then were to be reevaluated.

He would have been fine. His parents had sold themselves to keep him safe. However, no one could have predicted the arrival of Hermione Granger. Clearly she had tried to avoid catching reporters' attention and so her presence at his trial was completely unexpected.

They had practically decided to send me home when she stood up to testify against him. At the time, Draco had been shocked but it was understandable; he had bullied her for years. For the first few months he had blamed her. Before exhaustion and madness set in, when he was still furious at his imprisonment, he had planned his revenge. He had imagined escaping from prison and finding her and making her pay. After a while though, he had given up being angry and stopped caring. The only way to survive Azkaban was to try and ignore the pain and the hunger and the grief and simply let the exhaustion take over.

Draco's thoughts were interrupted when Simon coughed lightly. "Mr Malfoy?"

Draco stared at him in surprise.

"I have the transcript here. It looks like we might have a case."

"I thought-" Draco paused, shocked by the sound of his voice. Disuse had made it harsh and croaky. "Azkaban is a life imprisonment."

Simon nodded. "It was when you were sentenced. But there have been a few changes to the law since you were locked away."

Draco frowned. The law didn't change. It hadn't changed for years. Clearly the war had had a bigger impact than he had expected.

"No one's a big fan of Azkaban any more. Especially not for young people like yourself."

"I'm not-" Draco trailed off as he realised that he had no idea how old he was. Over twenty certainly, but perhaps not quite as old as thirty? It was difficult to tell the time in Azkaban.

"You were 17 when you were sentenced. Almost 18, but not much over the age of majority. Public opinion is that that is too young to be sent away to have your soul destroyed."

"You're offering me a way out?" Draco asked, his voice suddenly strained with desperation. Up until that moment he had been convinced that it was all a trick. Now though, it seemed too real.

"We can get another hearing. Make the case for your youth, the fact that you've served five years already and go on for a bit about how dreadful Azkaban is... I reckon you've got a decent chance."

Draco was suddenly alert. "How long until the hearing?"

Simon stopped smiling. "Well... the earliest would be a month from now."

Draco frowned. "Surely longer would be better? We need to prepare."

He didn't understand the silence that stretched out. "Draco - Mr Malfoy... you will need to return to Azkaban until the trial. I was only able to remove you because you were in serious need of medical attention."

Draco couldn't think. His heart was pounding, his head spinning. "I have to go back?"

Until that moment he hadn't realised how desperate he was to escape.

* * *

The month crawled by so slowly that at times Draco was sure that his brief respite had been nothing but a dream. He was convinced that Simon had forgotten him, so he was once again surprised when his darkness was interrupted. He leapt up, shaking off his fatigue, and moved to the door, only to be shot with a spell that sedated him.

He had only a few moments with Simon before they entered the hall. Immediately, Draco was reminded of the last time he had stood before a jury, and what that had led to. He didn't think that he would survive another stint in Azkaban.

Simon, clearly sensing his panic, began to reassure him. "I really think our chances are very good. We have a surprise that's going to completely knock any case against you out of the water. Trust me, there's no way that you're going back."

Draco began to relax. Perhaps his ordeal was finally over. He took a deep breath and was about to read the notes that Simon had given him when the door behind him swung open. He twisted around as far as his shackles would allow him and suddenly felt dizzy.

There she was. Older than the last time that he had seen her, but it was undoubtedly her. The same bushy hair, same confident stride. Hermione Granger.

Draco felt sick. He turned to Simon who was grinning. He didn't understand what was funny. Clearly this was a set-up, a way of making him lose all hope. To give him the promise of relief and then to take it away so cruelly. This trial was going to be just like the last.

She was getting closer and Draco didn't know what to do. As she stepped in range of the table he shrunk back away from her. She stared at him as if he were some kind of freak show.

"Get me away from her." He spat, and Simon went pale.

"Mal-" she cut herself off, and he saw that she looked nervous.

"Granger please. Please I'll do anything." All of his anger was gone as desperation took over. He begged her not to send him back, not caring for his dignity because Azkaban had taken all of his dignity years ago.

"Malfoy I'm not-" She turned to Simon. "You didn't tell him I was coming?"

"You said not to tell anyone." He offered nervously.

"I didn't mean _him_!" She rolled her eyes as Draco watched the exchange in confusion. Suddenly she whirled around and strode away. Moments later she was back, and someone was announcing a short break.

The court room emptied until the only people left were the three of them, and several bored looking security wizards.

"Draco I'm sorry. So sorry. I-" she broke off and he saw tears rolling down her face. Suddenly she was transformed from the hard faced woman to the girl he'd known at school.

He stared at her. She had used his first name, was apologising to him, and was crying. Clearly he wasn't the only person who'd changed.

"I never meant to send you _there_. I just couldn't bear the thought of you being free, and I was such a stupid girl. I thought we could change the world."

Simon frowned. "Ms Granger is the witch responsible for the changes to the law. She's here today to testify in your defence. Since she was against you before, I'm confident that her change in testimony is what will convince them to release you."

Draco couldn't quite understand what was happening, but he didn't have time to think because suddenly everyone was pouring back into the room and the hearing was starting.

The appeal was excruciating. Everything that he'd managed to forget, everything that they'd made him do, was brought up again. He was forced to relive every awful thing that he had to do. By the time his lawyer got up to speak Draco had stopped listening.

Simon was brief and to the point. By contrast, Granger seemed to talk for hours. She spoke passionately about human rights and second chances and everyone seemed to be buying it. Despite that, when it all finished, they took hours to decide.

Eventually a decision was reached and someone stood up to announce his fate.

"Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy, we hereby renounce the decision made on the 2nd of June, 1998."

Just like that, it was over. Everyone began to disappear and Draco looked around in confusion. Simon seemed equally confused, and Hermione was already striding away.

"That's it?" He asked in surprise. It was barely a full sentence. They had spent all day in the hall; he had expected a grand speech.

"That's it." Simon confirmed. "There will be a follow up meeting at the Ministry, I'll notify you of that-"

Draco ignored him as the chains binding him to his chair fell away. He stood up, trembling, and began to run, following the flash of brown hair.

"Granger! Wait!"

She didn't stop, or even look back. She actually seemed to be walking faster. Finally he caught up with her and grabbed her arm. Immediately a man drew his wand but the witch shook her head. "Relax."

She turned to face him, her face unreadable. "What do you want?"

Suddenly he had nothing to say. She stared at him as he stood, mouth agape. After a few seconds he pulled himself together. "Thank you."

"Thank you?"

"You just saved me-"

"I'm the reason you were there in the first place." she said dismissively.

"Hermione-" He looked surprised. Draco hadn't meant to use her first name. "I don't blame you. Merlin knows I was guilty."

"You were a kid."

He nodded at that. He had been a stupid arrogant child and although he knew that it wasn't his fault, sometimes that was difficut to remember.

"Do you want- Can I buy you a drink?" He asked awkwardly, instantly regretting it.

She raised an eyebrow. "You just got out of prison. I'm assuming that the dementors didn't let you keep your belongings? We do still use money to buy things."

Draco flushed, but before he could say anything she continued to talk. "Although the Manor has been seized by the Ministry, along with your other family homes, most of your Gringotts vault has been protected, and you should be able to access it by tomorrow."

His heart fell. His family home, like his parents, was gone.

"Perhaps _I_ should buy _you_ a drink." Hermione said, but he shook his head. Suddenly he didn't feel like celebrating. All he wanted was to go home and sleep, but even that was beyond his means.

"I suppose I'll just go and find a bridge somewhere." He said, a joke that sounded sour even to him.

She looked down at her feet. "You could stay at mine." she said, clearly reluctant.

"Thanks, but I owe you enough."

"Well then at least let me pay for a room in a hotel somewhere. Honestly you'd be doing me a favour - if the press find out that I left you to sleep on the streets then they'd be merciless."

He began to protest but she cut him off. "You can pay me back tomorrow."

* * *

Two years later they would look back on the day of his trial as a day of hope, of new beginnings. Hermione would always be thankful that she had managed to dredge up enough generosity to offer Draco kindness, and he would be forever grateful that he had found the humility to accept it.

She had helped him to readjust and he had taught her how to forgive. She took him shopping and helped him learn to cook. Together they visited his parents' graves and she saw how much he had changed. He forced her to reexamine her values and showed her that she didn't have to judge so harshly.

It was a shock to everyone. None of her friends could understand what she was doing, and at first neither could she. But somehow, through helping him, she was finally able to deal with her memories from the war. He helped her to lighten up and enjoy life.

After two years, no one was surprised when he finally gathered up the courage to ask her out, and Hermione was amazed by her friends' acceptance. Their relationship was symbolic of the way the world was changing, and the way that sometimes the most ridiculous ideas were the most perfect.


End file.
